Trick
by Jarvy Jared
Summary: Trent Collins has waited quite some time for Nathaniel W. to return. When he does, what he plans to do with Trent will drastically affect the young man's life; and not in a positive way. The sequel to my first story, Logic.


Four months.

Four long, agonizingly, _boring_ months

It had been four months since Sarah Halman had been poisoned by this mysterious Nathaniel W.

Trent Collins had been on constant watch for any more schemes from this individual, much to the chagrin of family. They thought that this was just some sick joke; police were now on the case.

His mother told him, "Leave this to the police."

But no; he couldn't. The police were incompetent, that was for sure. Half of the crimes they could not solve in a few days could have easily been closed in minutes had they simply taken account of several small oddities.

Of course, the police were nothing like Trent; they neither had his intellect nor his skills in observation.

Sarah was getting along well, and Matt and Joseph had taken it upon themselves to make sure she didn't relapse. Trent had initially volunteered, but as Joseph had put it: "If this Nathaniel W. character tries anything funny, we need you to not be distracted by us in order to stop him."

Trent hadn't liked this, since it meant he couldn't see Sarah as much as he wanted to. But, then again, it made his life slightly easier. All he had to do was wait for something to happen.

Yet at the same time, waiting was the most difficult thing he had to do. As the days turned to weeks, and then to months, his anxiety coupled with his boredom. He found himself desperately wanting _something, anything,_ to happen. He didn't like not knowing what would happen; he preferred to have a plan of action ahead of time that he could utilize when he needed it.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Nathaniel W. had anticipated this, and was purposely stalling, just to drive Trent up a wall.

Trent sighed as he mused over this on his front porch. He was sitting in a tan, wooden chair, sipping some iced tea. The sun shone brightly in the afternoon, and he squinted his eyes in its glare.

_Tuesday,_ he thought, unamused. _It's only Tuesday. Can't time go any faster?_

He took another sip from his glass, then set it down and swished the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. _Could be sweeter_, he thought, but didn't get up. He was too bored to do much, anyway.

A woman came by, one Trent didn't recognize. She appeared to be carrying some sort of bag filled with pamphlets. She walked over to the mailbox, then noticed Trent watching. She gave a wave, which Trent half-heartedly returned. Something about this woman seemed off, however, but for the life of him Trent couldn't figure out what. He supposed it was just his apprehension getting to him. The woman opened the mailbox and placed a pamphlet inside, then walked off, ignoring Trent's questioning stare.

Trent shrugged his shoulders. _Probably just some politician spokesperson_, he thought. His mind drifted away from the woman, turning over various, boring problems.

A few hours later, and Trent was still in his seat, twirling a finger in an empty glass as he continued staring out at the horizon. Eventually the sun started to set. He checked his watch. 5:30. His mom would be home soon.

About fifteen minutes later, his mom arrived. Ms. Collins worked at a hospital during the day, and only on Tuesdays could she count on being home early. Usually she had to stay at the hospital all day; but on Tuesdays, she could afford to be home earlier than usual. She drove her red sedan up the driveway, stopping at the mailbox. She opened the door and walked over to the mailbox, and took out the pamphlet.

"Hmm," she murmured. "How odd."

She looked up, and found Trent staring out. She sighed. That boy certainly had some odd antics about him. Sometimes she wondered how on Earth he was her son.

She reentered the car and parked it in the garage. Trent went back inside, carrying the glass with him to the sink, looking so far out of it that his mom could have sworn he was on something. She entered through the garage door, pamphlet in hand.

"Trent?" she called, though not expecting much of answer from the introvert. "Do you know what this is?" She waved the pamphlet in the air.

Trent answered quietly, "No, I do not. Some lady dropped it off. I assumed it was some political envelope. The mayor's re-election is coming up, remember?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded, then looked down at the envelope. "Though it certainly doesn't look at all professional."

Trent eyed the pamphlet curiously. It was in a simple manilla envelope that looked it had been bought at the dollar store. A simple strand of duct tape covered the opening. On the duct tape read the word: "IMPORTANT."

_Hmm,_ Trent thought. _It looks like something a fifth grader would make to look professional._

"What's in it, anyway?" he asked.

His mother shook her head. She grabbed a pair of scissors and started to shred the envelope. Specks of paper flew out, landing on the floor in a dusty heap.

There were several things inside. First there was a piece of paper with handwriting on it. It was small, and whatever was on it was quite brief. There was also some sort of tape recorder inside.

Trent felt his guard rise up. Something about this seemed very suspicious.

"What in the world—" his mom started. Trent peered at the paper in her hand. On it were a series of strange, unknown symbols that were unlike any language he had ever seen.

Suddenly, Ms. Collins's hands started shaking. She dropped the note and fell back, landing on her bottom.

"Mom!" Trent exclaimed. He rushed over, taking her hand in his. "Mom! What's wrong?"

She couldn't answer, and all of a sudden she started foaming at the mouth. Her entire body began to shake and curled up in a fetal position. She clutched her chest, almost like she couldn't breathe.

"Mom! What the hell—" Trent felt her grip go slack as her entire body froze. Her eyes closed. Trent's heart skipped a beat twice. _What—what the?_

Slowly, uncertainly, he reached out and placed two fingers on her wrist. He let out a breath of relief. She still had a pulse; it was faint, but definitely still there. He placed a hand above her nose; she was breathing, but very slowly.

_What the hell happened?_ he thought furiously, going over what he had seen in his mind. His mom had opened the envelope, and had found a tape recorder and a piece of paper with symbols on it—

Cold dread stung his heart. _Oh, no...don't tell me…_

He stood, and walked over to the tape recorder. He nervously placed a finger on the play button, then pressed down. There was a slight click, and then the recorder began to play:

"*czzXXzc* Hello Mr. Collins. I trust that you have been well? Of course you have; I've been keeping watch of you. Quite the admirable man, aren't you?

"I trust that this recorder has safely found itself in your hands. Oh, what am I saying—it couldn't have. After all, your mother is the one who opened it.

"Oh, how marvelously lazy you were, to not open that pamphlet yourself. I knew you wouldn't want to get up from that comfortable position you were in on the front porch. I commend your skills; I wrote a play, and you acted beautifully.

"Now, then, listen carefully, though I'm sure I won't have to tell you twice. Your mother had been reduced to a coma. A powerful poison is coursing through her system as you listen. It was finely grafted to the note that undoubtedly your mother held. So when she opened and touched the note, the poison immediately jumped to her hand and entered through her pores into her bloodstream. What poison, you ask? Well, the game wouldn't be as fun if I told you that! You'll have to figure it out yourself!

"But I must admit, I love giving out little hints to help the players. So here's one for you:

"That note you now have in your possession; it reveals a lot about my plans for you. So I suggest you get to work on decoding it.

"Toodles! *czzXXzc*"

Fear gripped Trent's throat like an iron vice. A sob threatened to escape his lips, but he bit it down.

_Mother,_ he remembered. _I have to help her._

He pulled out his phone from out of his pocket, and dialed a familiar number.

The voice on the other line said, "Yes? What's up?"

Trent answered, "It's starting."

"...I'll be right over."

The line went dead. Trent dialed another number, and repeated the same line two more times, once each for each new number. Each person answered the same.

Finally, Trent dialed one more number; one he never liked dialing.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance to 223 Bridgedale Road."

"Certainly, sir, may I ask why?"

"Remember that whole issue from four months ago?"

"...I'll send a few squad cars with the ambulance, sir."

"Thanks, Janet."

Trent hung up, then let out a slow breath. He stayed in the kitchen with his coma-induced mother until his friends and emergency services arrived.


End file.
